


Devil's Fire

by Pantherheart



Category: Original Work
Genre: Inspired by Person of Interezt 5x04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-23 21:13:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8342971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pantherheart/pseuds/Pantherheart
Summary: My name is Samantha Carter. I'm a Marine. Or, at least, I was. Then my Squad's plane was shot out of the sky. I am the only one who survived. Now I'm taking psychiatric therapy, because I have PTSD. But there's something strange going on inside my head. I feel like... everything that's happening to me... has happened before. It's not deja vu. It feels different, like... my sense of reality has been taken away from me...





	

I stared out the window of the office. I was sitting in a wooden chair in front of an oak desk. The window was large, floor to ceiling with a view of Time Square. I watched as people went on with their own business. There were women with arms full of shopping bags and men in expensive suits carrying leather briefcases. I saw children with their Mothers, noses pressed against the windows of the candy shop. There was a homeless man sitting at the corner, holding a can out in front of him in a request for any spare change. In the ten minutes I spent staring out the window, only one woman stopped to give him some. That's the problem with people these days. They're selfish and oblivious, so caught up in their own lives, they rarely stop to help others' with theirs.

I was broken from my thoughts by a man entering the room. I turned my head to look at him. He was aging, with graying hair, black rim glasses, and a smile that—I'm assuming—was meant to be kind and comforting. All I got out of it: there was certain torture, in the form of psychiatric therapy, in my near future.

I watched, silent, as he moved across the room to sit in the chair opposite the wooden desk in front of me. He shuffled through the papers on the desk before clasping his hands and giving me a polite smile. "Hello, you must be Samantha Carter," he said. "I'm Dr. Stewart Roth."

I stared at him, expression blank. I blinked. "Am I supposed to care?"

Stewart sighed and leaned forward, that stupid smile still on his face. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Like you care. You're only doing this because you get paid for it."

The man leaned back in his chair, unclasping his hands and letting them rest on the desk in front of him. "Well, then… On that note… let's start, shall we?"

I stared back at him, emotionless.

Stewart shuffled awkwardly in his chair. He sighed and cleared his throat. "Why don't we play a little game? I'll ask you about a person and you tell me what you remember about them. Let's start with your Mother. Tell me, what is she like?"

"My Mother is dead," I said.

"Oh! I did not know. I'm very sorry for your loss."

I stared at him, my face stoic, devoid of showing any emotion. They don't need to know how I feel. "It was a long time ago," I muttered. "I'm over it now."

Stewart cleared his throat and glanced down at the manila folder again. He riffled through it for a couple minutes. "What about… childhood friends? Do you remember Hannah Wren?"

I remember Hannah. Of course, I do. She was the only friend I ever had until I joined the Marines. She understood me like no one else ever had. She accepted me and the things about me that made me different. She never asked me to change. "You're perfect the way you are, Sam. Never let anyone tell you otherwise," she'd told me. We'd been in the Central Park that day, eating chocolate ice cream cones, like we always did on Friday afternoons after school.

I remembered all this, but I told Stewart none of it. He didn't need to know. And neither did his bosses. So, instead, I simply replied with, "Yes."

He watched me for a minute, as if waiting for me to elaborate. I didn't.

Stewart sighed, glancing at the clock on the wall. "You know, Samantha… the only way for these sessions to permanently end is for me to clear you. And in order for that to happen, you have to talk to me. So, answer me this: Do you remember your Squad members?"

_That's it. I'm done with this._

I narrowed my eyes at him in a menacing death glare. "Did you come to play this game by yourself?" I growled. "Or did they tell you to bore me to death?"

Stewart looked surprised, and possibly a little frightened, at my outburst. He fidgeted in his seat and bit his lip, nervously glancing at the door every few seconds.

"I'm sorry I upset you. That will be all for today." Then he stood up and hurriedly left the room. The two guards at the door entered the office and escorted me back to my quarters.

***

I always felt different growing up. I did not have many friends. My father was a Marine, so we moved around a lot. I never stayed in one place long enough to get to know the other kids there. Despite this, I was never lonely. My father always said I had an over-active imagination. I guess I still do, because even though I don't play "pretend" anymore, my dreams continue to be overly vivid and intricate.

_I opened my eyes to dimly lit stone walls and a barred door. It smelled like mold and I could hear water dripping from the ceiling._

_I lifted my hand to my face, and was surprised to find that my wrists were free of chains. There were also no guards at the cell door, which was also strange. In the dim light provided by the lone torch on the wall, I could make out dark patches of blood and dirt splattered on my Marines uniform._

_I sighed and leaned my head back against the wall. Slowly, my mind started to clear and memoires came back to me in white flashes._

_I had been with my Squad, flying on the outskirts of Qatar, near enemy territory. We were searching for clues as to where their base could be located._

_Cassara and Beth had been in the cockpit and I had been watching through the scope of my 338 sniper rifle as the ground sped by below us. There was supposed to be an enemy patrol passing through, I remember. But they never showed._

_That was when we heard a deafening BOOM! And the hum of the plane motors became silent._

_We'd been hit._

_The last thing I remembered were the screams of my Squad-mates as the plane fell in a nose dive toward the ground. I slipped and lost my footing. My head slammed against one of the metal crates—hard—and everything went black._

_That's all I could remember. Nothing that was said. Nothing that happened after I had blacked out. I know I had woken up a few times before this, but I only remember the feeling of being dragged across the ground and the smell of smoke. And even that was blurry. I didn't know if that was real or if it was all in my head._

_There was a loud clang down the hall and then the sound of echoing footsteps filled my ears._

_"Who's there?" I said cautiously._

_"Relax, Hotshot. It's me," a voice called from the hall._

_My eyes narrowed in confusion and awe. "Cassara?"_

_Out of the darkness, a figure appeared. It was a woman. She was tall, with dark brunette hair pulled back into a low ponytail and green eyes that gleamed in the soft light. Her Marine uniform was ripped and tattered, covered in blood and grime. There was a dark stain covering her stomach._

_I glanced at her face. She was watching me intently. "Are… Are you dead?" I asked, perplexed._

_Cassara gave me a smirk and cocked her head to the side, not unlike a curious dog would do. "Perhaps. If you want me to be."_

_"What do you mean?"_

_"You have control over this, Sam. Anything can happen."_

_"So… this is a dream, then?"_

_Cassara's smirk widened. "Like I said, you have control. This can be whatever you want it to be."_

_I shook my head, trying to clear it of these confusing thoughts. Cassara wasn't helping me make sense of this at all._

_"Whatever. Just… what do you want?"_

_Cassara pouted. "What, you're not happy to see me?" she teased._

_I rolled my eyes. "Just tell me what the hell you want from me before I strangle you for being so annoying!"_

_Cassara's face broke into a fanatical grin. "But, according to you, I died, remember? You can't strangle me if I'm already dead."_

_I glared at her, unamused._

_Cassara just chuckled. "Fine, fine." She walked forward and grabbed my wrist. Her touch was… cold, as if my hand was in a freezer. I tried to pull away, but her grip was strong. Much stronger than I remembered it being._

_"I have something to tell you," she said._

_I felt Cassara tapping my wrist with her finger. I was confused for a moment. Then I realized. It was a repeating pattern. Morse code._

.. - .-. … / -. - - / .-. . .- .-.. .-.-.-

**_IT'S NOT REAL._ **

_I nodded my head minutely, letting her know I got the message. She blinked and stepped back from the barred door, letting go of my wrist._

_I raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to speak._

_"They are watching," Cassara whispered, her voice an ominous monotone. "They are waiting. They want the Devil's fire."_

_I stared at her, bemused. "Devil's fire? What do you mean?"_

_"Think, Sam. You're a smart girl. I know you'll figure it out." Cassara turned to walk back down the hallway. She looked over her shoulder and smiled at me. "Oh, and by the way. You're Mother wanted me to tell you… She got your note. You know, the one you left at her grave before you left to join the Marines? She says: she hopes it's the first letter… of many more to come." Then Cassara winked at me and disappeared down the dark hall._

 

 

***

I jolted awake, covered in a cold sweat. The sheets were tangled around my feet and my comforter was on the floor. I was cold in the room and goose bumps were rising on my arms, but I paid it no notice. Cassara's messages were still swimming through my head.

"It's not real."

"Devil's fire."

"…first letter…"

"It's not real."

"Devil's fire."

"D. F."

 _Destination Fort_ , the codename we used to use in our Squad to talk about the Marines Headquarters in Qatar.

"It's not real."

"They are watching."

"They want the Devil's fire."

Immediately, it dawned on me what Cassara meant. Everything clicked into place in my head. It all made sense now. This isn't real.

Without a second's thought, I kicked the sheets off my feet and ran to the bedside table. I opened the bottom drawer and shoved all the clothes aside. I pulled the small piece of wood I'd cut out from the bottom of the drawer and slid the knife from its hiding spot. It had once belonged to a guard, but I'd stolen it from him after I'd knocked him unconscious for getting a little too hands on with me.

With a smile on my face, I raised the knife and rested it against my chest, just above my heart.

"This isn't real," I said.

To an outsider, it would have looked like I was talking to myself. But I wasn't I knew they could hear me.

I laughed. "You want to know where my base is? You're going to have to do a lot better than this."

And then I drove the knife into my chest, and everything faded to black.

***

My eyelids felt heavy. I couldn't open them. I tried to wiggle my fingers but they wouldn't respond, either. I couldn't move a muscle. Literally.

 _Must be all the damn sedatives,_ I thought. _And whatever else they're pumping me full of._

I couldn't move, but I could hear just fine.

"It's another fail, Sir." I heard a man say. Stewart Roth. I knew he was real. He was a little too convincing to just be made from code.

"What happened this time?" another man asked. His voice was deeper and he sounded more authoritive. It must be the enemy leader, or the Commander, as he wished to be called.

"She stabbed herself," Stewart remarked. "And still nothing on her Marines' location."

"That's unfortunate," I heard the Commander say. "Wait a few minutes for her to wake up. I want to talk to her."

"Yes, Sir."

Slowly, I began to regain my other senses. My muscles became more responsive to my brain's commands and I was able to move again. I opened my eyes after a few minutes to see I was strapped to a hospital bed. There were wires attached to my forehead and an IV stuck in my hand.

I looked up to the sight of Stewart and the Commander standing at the foot of my bed. I glared at them. Stewart seemed to shrink back under my murderous gaze and I smirked. Even strapped to a bed, with wires attached to my head, and an IV pumping God-knows-what into my veins, I still intimidated him.

The Commander, however, seemed unaffected by my intense glare. He just walked forward and came to stand beside me.

"Ms. Carter," he greeted. "I hear you are not being very… cooperative… with my friend, Stewart here." He put a hand on my shoulder and I violently shook it off.

"I really don't want to hurt you, Samantha," he sighed and took a step back. "So I will ask you one more time. Where is your base of operations?"

"Go to Hell," I spat.

"This could end, Ms. Carter. If only you tell me what I want to know."

"The first thing I do when I get out of these straps," I growled, "is make you bleed."

"Promises, promises." The Commander turned to Stewart, who handed his a syringe.

Another sedative. Great.

He pushed the tip of the syringe into my arm and slowly released its contents into my viens. I felt my eyes drift shut and my head fall to the side.

"Start the simulation again," the Commander ordered.

"Yes, Sir," Stewart replied. There was the tapping of keys. Then… "Starting Simulation #7,653."

I felt the Commander brush a stray strand of hair out of my face. I wanted to shove him away, but there was nothing I could do in this state. "She'll break, eventually," he remarked. "We have all the time in the world, my dear Samantha."

And for the 7,653rd time, I stared out the window of the office. I was sitting in a wooden chair in front of an oak desk. The window was large, floor to ceiling with a view of Time Square...

Here we go again.


End file.
